He nodded toward the table across the bar where she and Maeve had been sitting with the guys before starting their game of pool. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
And, though he hadn’t tried to avoid her, it was pretty clear if he had known, he wouldn’t have come. She got it. That was how one-nighters went. One night.
“I didn’t know you were coming either.” If she had she might have glanced at her hair before she left home. Gone for the cherry ChapStick instead of the original. She might have worn a skirt.
And not with the expectation that those big hands would find their way under it. No!
She cleared her head with a stern shake.
“It was a last-minute thing. Deciding to come out. But …” His jaw cocked to one side as his gaze slid over the second-floor bar before returning to search her eyes. “I don’t have to stay if this is uncomfortable for you.”
Nichole was already shaking her head when a tall glass of what was probably rum and Coke cut between them, followed by Maeve’s disgusted voice. “Didn’t I tell you to get over yourself? Nikki couldn’t care less about you showing up here.”
Not exactly true, but at least it was Maeve saying it instead of her. And, judging from the glint of amusement in Garrett’s eyes, his little sister’s biting words didn’t faze him.
His focus shifted to Maeve. “How’d that job in Denver work out?”
“Same ol’, same ol’.” Maeve shrugged, snaking an arm around her brother’s waist for a quick hug. “I’m scheduled to go back next week.”
Nichole watched the two fall into the conversation she knew one side of by heart, and wondered how it was possible she hadn’t recognized Garrett for who he was.
Only on some level she had. She’d seen his face at least a hundred times in photos in Maeve’s old albums. And, though most of those pictures were of a kid rather than a man, some of them had been recent. Which had to be the reason for that sense of connection. The immediate click.
Watching them together now, though, there was one thing she couldn’t miss. Being around Garrett wasn’t going to be a problem in any sense. His focus on Maeve was utterly complete.
There wasn’t any lingering tension—at least not from his side. He’d showed up, said hello when he saw her, been friendly and then moved on as though nothing had happened between them at all.
Maeve had been right about her brother being the expert in keeping relationships simple. And lucky Nichole to have the Panty Whisperer for her mentor.
Garrett stood with his back to the bar, his eyes focused on the pool table across the room where Nichole was lining up her shot, his tongue lodged somewhere halfway down his throat.
She moved from one spot to another, bending at the waist, bracing her weight with a hand on the table, widening her stance until—
Until every damn guy in the bar was leering as she took her shot. Just like him. The only thing setting him apart from the rest of the hounds panting after her was he knew just exactly what he was missing. He knew what it felt like to kneel between those legs. He knew what it felt like to spread his palm over the flat of her belly. To run his tongue the length of her.
Which meant, right then, he envied them. At least they could tell themselves it probably wouldn’t be as good as their imagination was making it.
Nichole let out a whoop, high-fiving Maeve as two guys he didn’t know took losing with dopey grins and an offer of more drinks.
Garrett’s eyes narrowed as he started sizing them up. They looked harmless, but guys put on a lot of façades.
His gaze shot over to his sister, who seemed to be handling the attention fine, passing on the drinks—good girl—and whatever else the guys were offering. Same as Nichole. Only there was something different about the way the two women handled it. Maeve leaned into the conversation, taking the flattery with grace even as she rejected it, while Nichole simply didn’t seem to register it at all. She was smiling freely at the guys, but without any kind of sexual recognition whatsoever.
Even when one of the guys reached for her hand, trying to angle in for some eye contact, she just wrapped her free hand around his fingers and basically handed them back to him … with a smile.
She was friendly.
Like he’d never seen “friendly” done before. Some girls played at it. Used it like a kind of game of push-and-pull. But Nichole … she was completely open and available only in one clearly identifiable way that said “not a chance” without ever having to say it at all.
“What’s up, man?”
Garrett shot a look over his shoulder to where Jesse was moving in beside him, his brother Sam a step behind.
“Just wondering how in the hell I ever got past that,” he answered with a nod in Nichole’s direction.
Jesse’s hands came up with the corners of his mouth. “Don’t look at me. I thought about asking her out back before I left, but she ‘friended’ me so fast there was no point in even trying.”
Jesse was one of the few friends Garrett had maintained regular interaction with over the years. He’d been a mellow, genuine guy from as far back as Garrett could remember. And through those first years after losing his dad, when it had seemed like the world was going to collapse around his shoulders and there was no way he’d be able to be everything he needed to be for everyone who needed it, Jesse had unrelentingly been there for him, refusing to let Garrett be alone no matter that the life he’d been a part of—the one with sports and chicks and hanging out—was gone. He’d been the guy to get his twenty-four-year-old sister to babysit once a month so Garrett could go out for a couple hours. The one who hadn’t crowed about cheap conquests. The one who’d understood. Maybe his artist’s mentality gave him more insight than the other meatheads. Whatever. He was a good friend—one of the only ones he truly felt comfortable confiding in.
An hour later Garrett was having to put significantly more effort into not feeling like a stalker than he generally cared to. But, honest to God, he just couldn’t keep his eyes from working their way back to that auburn tumble of hair and contagious laugh.
“She like this with everyone?” he asked Sam, watching as she yucked it up with yet another group of what he’d bet good money had been strangers until just that night. It seemed like she could talk to anyone about anything.
“What do you mean—friendly, easygoing?” Sam flagged the bartender for another round. Then, at Garrett’s nod, he shrugged. “Pretty much. But she can take care of herself. With one recent exception, nobody gets past her ‘friend’ zone. Some jack-off burned her pretty bad a few years ago and she’s been avoiding the flames ever since. So you don’t really need to worry about looking out for her. Aside from doing a damn good job of it herself, she’s got a lot of people who care about how she gets treated.”
There was an edge in those last words that had Garrett’s head cranking around to where Sam was watching him, a matter-of-fact look in his eyes. “You talking about me?”
Jesse covered his mouth with his hand, but a low laugh escaped regardless.
There
